Ten Forward
#FlashFictionFriday
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Here it is, our inaugural Flash Fiction day!It’s simple, I’ll post a prompt every Friday and everyone chimes in with their piece. Ten Forward will have a longer one and both Facebook and Twitter will have mini ones. You don’t have to reply on a Friday to participate. I don’t even care if you join in on one after I’ve posted the next. All participation as welcome, just follow the normal posting rules and keep to the prompt and word/line/page count.
~Linds
Friday, Aug.17th:
Imagine you are in a crowded location (busy bar, street, market etc). A woman walks past you, handing you a letter. She walks on, saying nothing. The letter is from her late husband. What are the contents of the letter? Who is the woman? Who was her husband? How does the letter relate to you?
Write a story in a max of 500 words.
[Prompt source: The Very Short Story Starter for Creative Writing by John Gillard]
Tarence had been walking the noisy New York Broadway streets on patrol for hours. The lights were almost blending together in his vision as he sipped his coffee, tired and ready to get off his feet. It was nearly time for him and his partner Karen to head back to do their paperwork to end their shift. Midnights were the worst but at least it let him spend time with his niece Bria. Compared to losing his sister and husband in car accident last year, raising their 5 year old was easier and yet sometimes harder. The questions didn’t stop. He explained the best he could but it was always the same, “Is mommy and daddy coming back soon…why not..” Terance didn’t blame her, after all ho could kid really understand something like that?
“Hey T you aright, spacing out on me like is how cops get shot you know that right,” Karen said and then lightly punched his vest.
“I’m good, just been…a lot lately, you know,” Terance replied and then a woman came and knocked into his shoulder.
“Excuse me officer,” she said earnestly and then slipped a note into Terrance’s hand before walking away.
“Hey, what’s this,” he called after her but she didn’t even turn around and it was too crowded to chase her over a note. He picked it up and read it. His face went pale the letter loose his hands as if he couldn’t keep hold of it.
“T, you’re white as a ghost. What the hell does it say,” Karen asked with concern in a deep hushed tone. Terrance looked at the note written with perfect black ink and in neat cursive.
“My sister. She could still be alive,” Terrance replied and then looked back down at the note.
My husband doesn’t want you knowing this. But his department is deep in the government and has your sister for protection. I don’t think that’s the whole story and I fear for her. I felt it heartless not to tell you and her little girl. I only know because I found it on his computer that hadn’t shut down correctly. She’s in Washington D.C. Good luck.
Terrance stuffed the paper back into his coat pocket and then wordlessly headed back to the station. He had work to do and his people were going to help him.Mary O’Donnell
Awesome, Mary! Here’s mine:
“That’ll be ten-fifty, Gina,” I told my favourite customer, who had come every Saturday for years, despite her sometimes frail state. She handed me a twenty and collected her change.
Behind Gina, a smartly dressed figure passed by. She was an odd sight at this farmers market in her pencil skirted dress and high heels. My guess is a business type. But here, on a Saturday?
Before the coins hit her hand and I could give her the bill, the woman returned and stopped in front of Gina, looked at her directly and said, “Gina Rose?”
“Yes, that’s me,” Gina replied in twice the length it took Miss Business to spit out the name.
“Here,” Miss Business said, dropping a letter in the basket and walking away.
“Wait!” I called out. “Who are you?” But the woman either didn’t hear me or chose not to.
“Well, I’ll be!” Gina exclaimed, clearly mystified. She pocketed her change and picked up the plain white envelope.
I looked over at Alisa who seemed just as surprised as I felt. The envelope was tightly sealed though, so I handed it to her. “Can you open it for me. I don’t think I can manage.”
“Of course.” A moment later she handed me the folded paper inside.
Between both hands I gazed it . I always did love a mystery, though typically they were lines in the pages of the novels I read. This was entirely unexpected and, admittedly a bit exciting as well!
The fibres of the paper felt heavy and silky against my fingers, and as I unfolded it something fell out and fluttered to the ground. “Oh!” I exclaimed, sighing slightly at the inconvenience.
“I’ll get it,” Alisa said, moving hurriedly around the table to pick up the smaller bit of paper now laying in the dirt. She shook it off and went to hand it to me, but cursed before becoming upright and handing it to me wide-eyed.
Glancing at it, I felt shock and instant confusion. Suddenly, I remembered the other paper and began to read.
“Dear Mrs. Rose,
I’d heard you’d been ill recently and had been struggling with your home. It seemed wrong given all you have given to people over the years. You were my favourite teacher and you changed my life.
Thank you,
Mark Haskell, 12th grade History, 1990
Underneath the typed letter and fancy signature was a hand written addendum:
“My husband Mark died last month in a car accident and meant you to have this earlier. It was one of his final wishes. Thank you for making him the wonderful man I fell in love with. ~Sarah Enders-Haskell”
I stared as Alisa and handed her the letter. It took me a moment to realize my cheeks were wet as I glanced again at the cheque that had been enclosed. He left me one million dollars.
~Linds
So lovely! Well done Linds! -Mary O’Donnell
Well done, all of you! When I am not so tired, I will see if I can manage up something:)
Krys
Ok, here’s mine. Forgive me, I missed the bit about ‘she walks on, saying nothing’ :) And I’m too lazy to go back and fix up, besides its at 499 words, so not changing that.
~~
“Charles,” I looked up from my phone at the voice, but not recognising her, returned my gaze to it and the message I was sending.
“Charles Majors,” the same woman insisted, and I looked up again at her, blonde, petite, dressed in a business suit. She sat next to me on the train as it stopped at the next stop as people got on and off.
“That is me,” I confirmed, “accountant with Daised, Conphewzed and Booring. Do I know you?”
“Not me, but you know my husband, he said you went to school with him, and he occasionally is on this train with you.”
“Oh, you mean Edward,Edward Stuart, haven’t seen him for … oh six weeks or so,” I said, trying to remember her name from what Ed had told him of her, “oh, you must be Samantha, he spoke lovingly of you and your three children, say, is Ed alright?”
She refused to answer, but she did put an envelope in my hand, “He wrote this to you, said I was to give it to you, said it would answer all your questions, and that you should read it within the privacy of your office.” She then abruptly rose to her feet, said “This is my stop” and departed the train.
I read the front of the envelope: ‘For Charles, from Edward, delivered by Samantha’.
I didn’t remember much of the remainder of my trip, and when the train reached the city, I shuffled off the train, through the turnstiles and up the street to the office that contained our office. I arrived early that day, and went through to my office and shut the door once I entered. Privacy of your office I recalled, and I closed the blinds on my windows, windows that gave me a magnificent view over the river that flowed through the middle of the city. With trembling hands, I opened the envelope, the urgency, the secrecy of the request made me nervous. Out of the envelope dropped part of a key. I pocketed it before opening his letter and reading:
Charles, buddy, if you are reading this, know that I am dead, and it is up to you. I give you my key. Don’t cry for me, and keep safe. One of us must survive, and if not me, I’m pleased that it is you. Mate, do this for all of us, Matt, Will, Henry, Mary and myself. You and I … we were the last, the secret messages, weren’t they fun? You know what to do. Trust is in short supply, keep the key safe and destroy this note.
Yours, Edward Stuart. CF
I read and reread the note, then I tried an old trick from Ed’s and my time in the scouts and revealed the other message, then I went outside and shredded the letter, complained of being unwell and took a ride share home. There was work to do. And only Numbers Man could do it.
Russell